


Between the lines of fear and blame

by failurebydesign



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Friends to Lovers, M/M, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-23
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2019-08-06 05:53:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16382621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/failurebydesign/pseuds/failurebydesign
Summary: “We should get a place together this season,” Mat says casually over delicious grilled salmon and not as appetizing sautéed asparagus which he’s already trying to weasel his way out of eating. It isn’t as if Tito is a terrible cook— Tito is, on the contrary, pretty amazing when he’s left alone in the kitchen for a few hours. Asparagus is just so…green.“No.” It’s automatic, like maybe Tito didn’t understand Mat’s request— or maybe he did understand it all too well, his response already pre-programmed.( Or Mat wants to be roommates. Tito says no. )





	Between the lines of fear and blame

**Author's Note:**

> As always, if you found this upon googling, exit immediately. This is a complete work of fiction and in no way am I implying that anything written in here is true. Stories are not meant to be circulated or shared with those written in them. All is loosely based on some real events, that is all.
> 
> Lotts ruined my life late last night, reminding me how Tito was quick to say "No," when asked if he'd ever live with Mat to preserve their friendship. This is clearly why. Thank you glazedsun for betaing this for me so quickly. You're the best.

“We should get a place together this season,” Mat says casually over delicious grilled salmon and not as appetizing sautéed asparagus which he’s already trying to weasel his way out of eating. It isn’t as if Tito is a terrible cook— Tito is, on the contrary, pretty amazing when he’s left alone in the kitchen for a few hours. Asparagus is just so… _green_.

“No.” It’s automatic, like maybe Tito didn’t understand Mat’s request— or maybe he did understand it all too well, his response already pre-programmed.

His _no_ sticks— harsh and abrasive. He must notice. When he lifts his head to make eye contact with Mat, his voice softens. “You’re my best friend. And just _try_ the asparagus, please?”

“Well then that’s all the more reason for us to get an apartment. Come on.” Mat pokes at the roasted asparagus, turning it over on his fork. He doesn’t want to try it, but will. For Tito.

“I’d like to preserve our friendship,” Tito says with a little shrug. “Plus I think we’d kill each other by November. You’re sort of a slob.”

Mat scoffs. It’s an excuse to stall his vegetable consumption. “And I bet you have a sink full of dishes right now. I should go check.”

“Of course I have a sink full of dishes, idiot. I just cooked you dinner.” Tito rolls his eyes. “Eat your dinner.”

“Yes, mom,” Mat says, taking a bite of the asparagus. It’s not terrible, but still, he struggles through every last bit of it, refusing to take his eyes off of Tito until his plate is clear. Mat doesn’t mean for his competitive nature to kick in over a plate of vegetables, but then he’s slamming his fork on the table with a satisfied, “Done!”, grinning proudly at a Tito who he _knows_ didn’t think he could do it.

“Oh, good.” Tito grabs his plate, smirk a dangerous one. “I’ll get you seconds.”

“Like fuck you will,” Mat shoots back quickly, laugh low. It’s not losing if you refuse a rematch. “You know I hate asparagus. That was preemptive sabotage.”

“We never set any rules past eat what’s on your plate.” Tito begins to gather up the rest of the empty plates, grinning. “You of all people know there’s ways around that.”

Mat laughs. He’s snuck brussel sprouts on Quiner’s plate in the past, even gone as far as making up his _own_ plate to avoid any weird food aversions. It’s then Shane and Quiner’s losses to their cooking club strike him. It’s just him and goofy, eager to please and yet equally competitive Tito now.

“So about an apartment,” Mat says, trailing Tito into the kitchen. Sink full of dishes, just as he predicted.

“I said no.” Tito doesn’t turn around, busying himself with the dishes. Mat knows he’s doing it on purpose, avoiding the conversation. 

Mat walks up to the counter, smiling as Tito shakes his hands over the sink. “I’ll eat my veggies every single night.”

“Bold of you to assume I’ll be cooking you dinner nightly.” Tito smirks, leaning against the counter. “But no is no, Barzy. Besides, we’ll always have the road.”

“Ah, the road,” Mat says, knowing it’s days before they’ll fly out and then what? Last year, the road meant sharing a rooming, hooking up and immediately leaving it at the door when their room keys were returned. It was a pact, to not bring it up outside of the hotel because they were friends and friends don’t have sex— not if they want to stay friends, anyway.

He doesn’t know if Tito’s hinting or inviting him to try _that_ again. He knows better than to ask. It’s Tito’s next words that bring him back to reality.

“You know why. You’re my best friend.”

Mat knows. He knows of occasional spats on the road over an occasional t-shirt on the wrong side of the hotel room floor. He knows he’s a little loud when he wakes up well before Tito. He knows living together would mean putting up with those small, excusable quirks that are easy to overlook on the road but not so easy to forgive when you’re faced with them day after day.

He knows Tito is his best friend.

What he doesn’t know is why they can’t just try.

..

North Carolina is where it all gets messy.

“Wait.” Tito turns his head, breath heavy, fingers curled around the sleeve of Mat’s shirt. 

“What?” Mat nips at the skin below Tito’s jaw, grinning when it elicits another sharp gasp. “We don’t have to be downstairs for another hour and half. Plenty of time.”

“Plenty of time for what?” Tito worries his bottom lip between his teeth, head dropping when Mat detaches his own teeth from their spot at Tito’s neck.

“I assumed getting off.”

“Oh,” Tito hums. “You assumed wrong.”

“You just had your hands down my pants for the past fifteen minutes,” Mat says with an understandably frustrated sigh. “Okay,” he exhales, letting Tito be.

Tito’s voice softens. “It’s just.”

“Our friendship. I know, I _know_ ,” Mat stresses, knowing they can’t live together. They can hardly room together on the road without ending up in bed together, not that he thinks separate rooms will make a difference.

Tito smiles, kissing Mat’s cheek with a, “Thank you.”

Mat smiles, too. He likes when they cross the line, pushing things further. He likes the feeling of Tito weighing him down, moving over him— hands rough and kisses bruising. But he’s also okay _not_ doing those things, content in sitting in silence, sharing the occasional laugh at another stupid meme.

They do just that, Tito laughing over a video of a dog doing a somersault that isn’t nearly as funny as Tito thinks. His cheeks pinken when he plays it once more, looking to Mat for approval who, in the end, unable to get past how pleased and happy Tito looks, laughs too.

Tito laughs against Mat’s side, holding his stomach as he does so, and it’s the downright stupid moments like those when Mat feels lucky to have Tito as a friend. They don’t _have_ to hook up to have a good time.

“Stop,” Mat laughs, playfully shoving Tito off of him, not admitting just how much he loves it when Tito gets this wound. 

“Okay,” Tito says in between his laughter, leaning again, hands trailing and then… Tito’s mouth is back over Mat’s, kissing hard, kissing desperately, picking right back up again, as if they never stopped.

“Make up your mind,” Mat whispers after Tito helps him out of his shirt, licking, kissing and biting down his neck. He knows there’s a good chance Tito’s already left a mark but doesn’t care. He won’t stop him. 

“This,” Tito says in between trailing kisses. “I want this.”

Mat opens his mouth, thoughts wiped clean the second Tito’s hand is back between his legs. He thinks he wanted to ask Tito if this was okay— if he was _sure_ , but then Tito hikes his pants down and he’s pretty sure that being on the receiving end of a sloppy blowjob is indication that yeah, it’s _more_ than okay.

When they’re finished, laying in the wake of it all, Mat can’t help but open his mouth. It’s probably the stupidest time to even think about an apartment, which is why Mat does. “I think we’d be fine living together.”

He expects the harsh no. It’s the laugh and the fluffy pillow to his face that comes as a surprise.

“You’re my best friend, stupid,” Tito says, smile wide when he peers behind the pillow he’d just whacked Mat with.

Mat doesn’t dare return the favor— not this time. He’s happy, for now, in the afterglow. They scramble to get dressed— Tito in such a good mood that for once, he doesn’t seem to mind that some of Mat’s clothing had made its way over to his side of the room. He threw them there, after all.

Still, though hurried, Mat picks up, giving Tito a knowing smile. He could be cleaner, he could be more accommodating— if Tito would just let him _try_.

..

“Tito.” Mat shakes him by his shoulder, already running late for practice. It’s not like Mat to run late and it’s _really_ not like Tito, either. He’s alive, though a bit clammy— Mat knows— because he groans and rolls over when he’s shaken once again.

“I’m _sick_ ,” Tito manages to croak out, eyes red and skin pale. It’s hard to notice in the dim hotel lighting, but when Tito sits up, rubbing his runny eyes, Mat knows he’s not making practice today. “Give me like, five more minutes.”

“I think you should probably stay in bed, man.” Mat frowns, pulling his phone from his back pocket to shoot off a few texts. 

Tito shakes his head, sitting up, steadying himself, palms against the mattress. He’s _not_ fine. Mat can tell he’s pushing through it, pretending otherwise. “Just five minutes, okay?”

“Coach says you’re staying in bed.” Mat pulls the blanket up, forcing Tito to lay back down. It’s not an easy task— Tito’s just as stubborn, if not more. He does lay down after a little bit of a fight, but Mat knows it’s not willingly. He’s too weak to fight him off for too long.

“I’m playing,” Tito mumbles, curled up amongst the blankets, eyes heavy. He isn’t— Mat can tell.

Tito’s just too _sick_.

Practice is fine. Mat’s already used to playing on a different line. He’s focused and though he instinctively looks for Tito a few times, knows he’s fast asleep in his hotel room. It’s after practice, hitting the ice for warm ups, when Mat hits a puck off of the boards, that the immense feeling of loss washes over him.

“It’s not like he’s dead,” Mat mumbles to himself, making a mental note that rituals are silly. He’s not going to play like complete shit without Tito there to yell in his face, passing the puck back and forth to each other beforehand. He’s played without Tito before. He can do it again.

He does it again. And it _sucks_.

Mat’s not in the mood for media. He’s exhausted by the time he’s on the plane, though glad to finally reconnect with Tito after what was a pretty stressful twelve hours. It’s not that he’s needy— he’s capable of doing things _without_ Tito. They were apart most of the summer. So what if they relied on FaceTime more often than not.

“Sorry.” Tito frowns, blanket wrapped around himself in what is probably the saddest display Mat’s seen in awhile. He doesn’t know why Tito’s apologizing— he’s very clearly sick.

“That game was such bullshit,” Mat says when he sits down next to Tito with a defeated sigh. Tito, despite having slept through it all, still looks pretty terrible and Mat instantly feels bad for whining about the team’s loss.

“I kind of realized that I can’t handle that shit without you,” Mat admits just above a whisper.

“What, play hockey?” Tito furrows his brows, tightening the blanket around his shoulders. “I’m sure you did. Not like I’ve been on your line in _weeks_ anyway, man.”

“Yeah,” Mat says with a shrug. “But I meant the whole… I don’t know. You’re good at telling me to shut the fuck up when I get frustrated. That didn’t happen this time and everything was such a mess.” 

“You need me.” Tito smiles.

Mat doesn’t want to admit it that easily, but yeah, he _does_. “It was _weird_ without you there.”

“I might not be forever,” Tito says, so casual in a way that stings. It’s nothing Mat wants to think about, anyway.

“Shut up.” Mat tugs on the corner of Tito’s blanket. “On the plus side, you look less green now.”

“Yeah.” Tito’s smile is soft and warming. Mat should know it’s indication of something not-so-soft that’s brewing behind it. “Does this mean you’re more likely to put me in your mouth again?”

Mat just about chokes. He doesn’t know when the rules of rooming stop applying, though figures since they’re heading _home_ , hooking up was off the table. Tito’s clearly delirious, coming down from his fever, Mat decides, not allowing himself to think about that once Tito settles in his seat, head resting at Mat’s shoulder.

“You’re my best friend,” Tito mumbles sleepily, eyes falling shut just seconds later.

It’s why, Mat knows, they’ll never, ever live together. Tito’s a lot of things— he’s kind, he’s affectionate and he’s one of the best friends Mat’s ever had. He’s also stubborn, unbudging and, Mat realizes, protecting them. He just wishes, for once, he _wouldn’t_.

..

“Why can’t we?” Mat is drunk on a Sunday. To be fair, days of the week don’t have much significance when you’re a hockey player, but still. It’s Sunday, he’s _really_ drunk and he’s frustrated that Tito still isn’t giving him a clear answer. It makes everything that much worse. “We’ve been friends for _years_.”

“That’s the problem,” Tito says, shaking his head. “Can’t you see?”

Mat sighs, squinting. He only sees Tito. “What am I looking at?”

“God.” Tito tugs Mat’s arm, forcing him to sit down on the couch. “We’re not having this conversation. You’re so drunk.”

“I’m staying here tonight.” Mat decides it in that very moment, kicking his shoes off to curl up on the couch. Tito doesn’t look very pleased with him, but he isn’t saying no this time either. 

“Fine.” Tito pulls a blanket down over Mat. “Only because I don’t want you driving.”

When Mat wakes up, it’s 4 AM and he’s on what he’s pretty certain is Tito’s floor. He doesn’t remember much past a few beers and definitely doesn’t remember falling asleep— not on the floor, anyway.

He’s slow to stand but quick to crawl into Tito’s bed, body sore and head pounding. Tito is warm at his side, unmoving until Mat’s arm slips around his middle.

“Barz?” Tito says sleepily.

“How’d you know?” Mat leans his forehead against Tito’s shoulder, hoping it’ll lessen his headache. It doesn’t.

“You slept on my couch?” Tito rolls over, laughing softly. “It was either you or someone who broke in and I don’t think Long Island is full of serial cuddlers.”

“Why can’t we live together?” Mat asks again, this time a little less desperate and a lot more sober.

Tito sighs, running a hand over his face. He’s clearly tired of having this discussion over and over again. “I told you.”

“I know, I know, you’re my best friend,” Mat says, rolling his eyes. “So you think I’m not willing to learn how to like, clean up after myself and shit?”

“It’s not that.” Tito frowns and he doesn’t speak. Something about the way he looks tells Mat he’s just as jumbled up inside as he is. “You’re the best friend I’ve ever had.”

“So you keep saying.” It’s Mat’s turn to sigh. He doesn’t want to be frustrated with Tito.

The times they’ve had over the past few seasons alone have been proof enough that their friendship is strong. He’s helped Tito get dressed after he broke his arm, stayed up late to give him a pep talk after being sent to Bridgeport, supported his getting completely shitfaced after a break up— there’s nothing Mat wouldn’t do for him.

It’s a weird revelation— that he’s doing Tito his best service by _not_ living with him. Mat knows he’s a lot. He’s moody, he’s messy and he’s a creature of habit. Tito is patient, kind, but can only put up with so much, he’s sure of it.

“You’re mad,” Tito says, sitting up in the dark.

“No,” Mat whispers, doing the same. “I get it now.”

“You do?” Tito raises an eyebrow, resting his hand on Mat’s arm.

“Yeah.” Mat smiles and it’s enough to get Tito to settle back down. “You’re my best friend.”

..

Monday is _awful_. Mat is hungover, but Tito is feeling better, so it’s kind of a win. They go to practice together, which isn’t too unusual— they drive together on occasion.

“Welcome back,” Jordan sing-songs when they walk into the locker room. Just like that, the game against San Jose is in the past. 

Mat doesn’t think anything has changed since California. The team dynamic is the same, maybe a little better with Tito feeling more himself again. His cheeks are still rosy, but he’s alert and smiling, ready to suit up and get back to work.

Then Tito’s eyes meet Mat’s, giving a knowing smile that causes a shift, turning over everything Mat knows. It’s a soft, simple smile, one that says _thank you_ for the special care when he was ill. One that makes Mat’s stomach do a somersault.

It’s not often he thinks about kissing Tito outside of road trips. It’s against the rules.

Mat laughs it off, shaking his head. He’s _not_ telling Tito. He’s _not_ breaking the rules.

After practice is when Mat’s silent promise all goes to shit.

They make it back to Tito’s apartment, Tito still not wanting more than to heat up a little bit of leftover soup for lunch, despite promising he’s better after turning down Mat’s offer to buy lunch. “I just think it’s better to take it easy. I’m not missing another game.”

“We’ll take it easy, then,” Mat says, pointing to the couch. “Sit down, I’ll get your soup.”

Tito’s reluctant, maybe a bit wary but sits down nonetheless, smiling when Mat disappears into the kitchen. It’s a simple act of kindness that Mat doesn’t mind performing— it’s his way of saying sorry for being such a dumbass.

Mat carries it back out, tray and all, pleased that he managed to pull it off without a mess. He sets the tray down on the coffee table, turns and then sits, proud of himself for the little laugh that comes from Tito.

“What’s wrong with the napkin?” Tito picks it up, oddly and bent, between two fingers, laughing harder. 

“It was supposed to be a crane but, whatever, I tried, okay.” Mat rolls his eyes, all too fond. “Eat your soup.”

Except Tito _doesn’t_ eat his soup. He leans over, laugh lighter, breaking the rules— pressing a feather light kiss to the corner of Mat’s mouth. It’s short and innocent, really, or so Mat thinks, until Tito, not getting a response, cups Mat’s face, turns his head and kisses _harder_.

Mat tries his best to ignore the inevitable— that they’re breaking the rules— that they’ll have to talk. Then, as if on cue, Tito nips at his bottom lip, pulling Mat in for more. He knows they can stop at any time, that once Tito comes to his senses, they will.

Like the soup, Tito’s common sense is easily forgotten.

Mat is shirtless beneath a handsy Tito when he finally stops, cheeks flush. He braces himself when Tito shifts over him. They’re friends, _best_ friends, Mat knows. He doesn’t need a reminder. He knows why Tito stops, why Tito climbs off of him and fixes his messy hair.

“Do you want to take this to the bedroom?” Tito asks, voice uncharacteristically shy.

It throws Mat, because, _duh, yes_ , he thinks, but also, “Wait, what?”

“The bedroom,” Tito repeats, tugging off his shirt. 

Mat nods, standing, swallowing hard. If rules are being broken and _meant_ to be broken, maybe there’s some wiggle room when it comes to being roommates. It’s just a thought— one that’s knocked out of him the minute Tito pushes him down onto the mattress, back arched when Tito’s legs bracket his.

Time moves slower than usual and by the time Tito finally gives in, pressing into Mat, Mat is far too wound up, too incoherent to hold back the soft sounds that tumble out of him. Tito kisses his neck, hips rolling down and Mat, out of instinct, hooks a leg around Tito, wanting, _needing_ more.

It’s different from the quick, sloppy fuck that usually happens a few hours in between practice and a road game in whatever hotel they’re stuck in for a day or two. Mat finds himself amazed by how attentive Tito is, giving himself up easily, kissing through what ends up being one of the best orgasms of his life.

When it’s all over, Tito is the one to break the silence.

“I don’t want to lose you,” Tito admits, arm hooking around Mat’s midsection. “If we live together… God, I might murder you.”

Mat laughs, curling into Tito’s side. “You haven’t yet.”

“Because we don’t live together,” Tito says, like Mat _isn’t_ there consistently— like they _don’t_ spend most of their time on the road in one room— in one bed. “We still have that buffer zone.”

“Why the fuck would we need a buffer zone?” Mat laughs. It’s the dumbest excuse he’s heard yet. “We’re friends.”

“That’s because I’m in love with you,” Tito says, exhaling, shoulders dropping when he says the words out loud.

“That’s… okay.” Mat hears himself say _that_ of all things, brain having short-circuited, preventing him from saying something, anything that could count as understanding or supportive. Tito, his Tito, loves _him_.

“Fuck, Mat, are you listening to me?” Tito bites his lip, grabbing Mat’s arm. He’s shaking. He’s sincere. He’s _scared_. “I’m like… really in love with you.”

Mat nods, pretty sure he’s shaking, too. It’s nothing new, he hopes Tito knows. He turns in, kissing Tito soft and slowly, whispering only when he breaks apart less than an inch. “I’ve _always_ been in love with you, idiot.”

Saying it feels good. It’s how he imagines Tito felt when he said it— a rush of fear mixed with relief, admitting how years of whatever they shared was always so much more than friendship. That wherever they go, whatever they do, nothing could ever change that.

“You have?” Tito furrows his brows, examining Mat closely. 

“Of course,” Mat says, the back of his hand brushing Tito’s cheek. “You’re my best friend.”

Tito laughs, taking Mat’s hand, turning it over in his. It’s nothing guaranteed, nothing in stone, but it’s the start of _something_ — Mat knows. Tito is coy in kissing his cheek, face turning up to catch Mat’s gaze. “This doesn’t mean you’re moving in… yet.”

Mat, laughing, presses a kiss to the top of his head. This is better. _Much_ better.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to follow me on twitter @ dejadejayou or titobeauvillier on tumblr!


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